The Counterfeit Cousin
by Tsume Yuki
Summary: In which Lucius Malfoy decides to off a political opponent with a little black book and Tom Riddle returns to the world six years earlier than planned. A Tom adopts Harry story.


**The Counterfeit Cousin**

_x_

**_Prologue_  
**

Flesh stretched over the tendons attaching fingers to hand to wrist, the appendage reaching out. Finely tuned finger-tips brushed across worn black leather, of which age had not been kind to. The once exceedingly dark cover was riddled with dust, worn and in dire need of treatment if it were every to live another year. But the little leather bound journal, the little diary, was no longer needed. Obsolete, it's purpose served and no, it was of no use any more. The sentimental value was long gone, burnt and ashes in his black hole of a heart now. So long had it been his prison; a house offering no comfort, no touch or sound or visual stimulus that he no longer cared for it.  
Maybe even loathed it a little.  
Yes, no love was lost.

The long fingers curled around a wand -ash with unicorn hair, not favourable at all- before tightening, testing the weight that'd been a foreign eternity for so long. Magic swirled beneath his skin before shooting down the core and out of the wand tip, spitting fire as it went. The book lit up red with flames, bright crimson bleeding across the blackening cover, the scent of old, burning parchment stretching across the room. It spread, hungry, from the coffee table housing the book to the body laid beside it. Daniel Spencer, a muggle loving political opponent of the dark, was shrouded by the fire, disappearing behind the smoke and odour of burning flesh.

And for the first time in fifty years, Tom Riddle stood tall and enjoyed the death around him.

_x_

_**Chapter 1**_

Harry Potter was six years old. Six and a half if one wanted to be somewhat closer to this true age. Even still, if one were to say that they'd still be many days out, but very few people went into detail past asking Harry for his age, never-mind his name. So he'd never before had to figure out his exact age. Not that he'd never been bored enough to do so before.

It'd just been a while since he'd last done it, and at this moment in time, he had no sudden urge to start crunching the numbers. Regardless, the important fact to take away from this was that Harry Potter had seen six years in his life. Six cycles around the sun, six years worth of living.

And Harry Potter was not like other six year old boys.

.

Today was the twenty-fifth of December, and like every child that he knew of, Harry knew that today was Christmas day. A day that meant several things, presents, crackers, chocolates, Christmas dinner and most important of all; family. That's what Christmas day was made of.

At least, that's what Christmas day meant to Dudley Dursley, the cousin of Harry Potter.

To Harry however, Christmas meant none of these things. Other than that which he would not be permitted.

Instead, he had been awoken by his uncle, a brute of a man with the largest moustache that Harry had seen so far, and informed that it was his duty to clear the drive-way of the snow. Harry did not see the point in this, for it way Christmas day, what use could his uncle possibly have of the car, where could he go? Everywhere was shut and the man's dear sister did not appreciate being bothered upon this day, it was her time to spend with the precious dogs she bred.

But Harry knew better than to ask questions, or even worse, to question orders now. He did want to eat today, even if it were only left-over scraps that Dudley could not physically force down his throat. Aunt Petunia had taken to stopping that now, ever since the boy had started throwing up all his over indulgences but an hour later. One body could only take so much.

So, Harry had outfitted himself with his cousin's hand-me-down, oversized coat, along with the matching boots that were far too big and saw him slipping about inside the soles, whilst he armed himself with a shovel. And then, he got to work.

The second he finished cleaning the drive-way a hefty four hours later, he was shoved inside his cupboard with a bowl-full of left-over vegetables that Dudley had refused to even look at. In the dim lighting of his little room, he'd even found that a piece of stuffing and the smallest bit of Yorkshire pudding had made it's way into his bowl, and for that he was thankful.

He could already hear his cousin outside the thin wooden door, complaining about the lack of some super-toy or another that all the other kids would surely have upon his return to school. Harry had seen the mountain of presents that were housed within the living room; in all honesty, the toy requested was probably buried somewhere near the bottom. He had already listened to Dudley whine that the presents that'd sat at the foot of his bed hadn't been plentiful enough for his tastes.

Dejectedly, Harry looked at the foot of his bed, which met the wall. The mattress was a tight fit in the little cupboard, Harry wasn't going to lie. There was no point; his room was small. A small room, for a small boy.

Carefully, he placed the empty bowl -licked clean- upon the shelf above his head, installed before he was within the cupboard under the stairs. His aunt and uncle would never go out of their way to make his little part of their home comfier for him. It was pure luck it'd already been there.

.

Outside of his little room, he heard the door-bell ring and his uncle's surprised snort. The man muttered something out under his breath about carollers, but Harry wasn't close enough to catch the full extent of the threat. And it was without a doubt a threat, of that he was almost sure.

The vibrations from his uncle's heavy foot-falls echoed through his cupboard, dancing up his mattress and along the worn skin that rested upon the underside of his toes, feet pressed against the flimsy door. There were muffled voices from outside, which slowly began to rise and Harry's curiosity was peaked.

By now, his uncle would usually have slammed the door in the intruders face, of that, Harry was almost certain. He knew for a fact his uncle's temper was shorter than Dudley's list of completed books. He knew the man should have blown up now, but instead all that remained was silence, broken only by Petunia's soft laughter at whatever had captured her interest upon the television.

Soft footsteps that could in no way belong to his uncle came down the hall-way now, steady and sure of themselves as they made their way closer and closer to Harry's door. He held his breath, mind instantly whirling to the wish he'd made that very morning.

He'd accepted the fact Christmas wishes didn't come true two years ago, but that didn't stop him from making one hope-filled wish every year. And it was always the same thing; please please please let some family, no matter how close or far the relation, appear and take him away from all of this. Surely it wasn't happening?

He couldn't think any further than that, for the latch upon his door clicked before it slid open, allowing the brighter light of the hallway to enter his room.

.

The first thing Harry noticed about the stranger was that he was young. He couldn't be ten years older than Harry, with thick dark hair that fell it crisp waves. Dark eyes and pale skin, the teen looked like something out of aunt Petunia's period dramas, his face an unreadable mask. But that was just it, for as young as the boy looked, he carried himself as someone much older. He was stood tall, one hand wrapped around the top of the cupboard door, the other clutching at a thin piece of bleached wood in his other hand.

Harry stared up at the boy with confusion smeared across his face. All he could focus on was the boys face, picking out the features that they shared. There weren't many, but Harry didn't think he'd looked too much like Dudley either, so there was still some hope lingering deep within his mind that maybe, just maybe.

"Harry Potter," the boy mused, voice like silk and all things rich, he spoke as close to royalty as Harry could imagine. And he was saying Harry's name. "Harry," the teen finally settled on, no expression crossing his face as he gestured for Harry to leave his cupboard.

Slowly and exceedingly cautious of his uncle, who may or may not be lurking in wait, Harry took a tentative step outside, looking around.

The query of his uncle was answered instantly. The man was crumpled by the door as if his spine had been turned into jelly, like someone had put him to sleep. He couldn't see if his chest was moving up and down or not.

Panic whirled through Harry, and he flinched as a hand came down upon his shoulder.

"None of that, the muggle is alive. For now." Foreboding was thick within the tone the boy used, words still sounding expensive and golden on his tongue. "Harry, my name is Tom Riddle, you and I just so happen to be distant cousins. I would be thrilled if you were to come and live with me."

It was almost every fantasy he'd ever had, all rolled into one. Not his parents, not his grand-parents, but someone.

Someone who had come, who had spoken his name and who had offered him a home.

Harry's hand tightened upon the appendage that rested atop his shoulder instantly, breath caught in his throat.

He really didn't need to say much more than that.

* * *

Tom sneered down at the muggle man now that he had Harry firmly held in front of him, where the boy couldn't see his face.

It'd been two weeks since he'd stepped back into the living world, two weeks that he'd spent researching and catching up with the times. He'd been thoroughly shocked and furious upon what he'd found.

His future self, defeated by a year old babe, not even out of the cradle yet.

He'd looked into everything, because there was no way in which he could have been felled by a mere child, it was just not done.

The mudblood mother had been the best lead, the 'brightest witch of her age' was a rather grand title to hold, so he'd instantly latched onto it. He'd scavenged the sight, locating a personally written journal that he'd taken. After disabling the wards that prevented it's removal from the 'historic site' that was.

What he'd found had left him somewhat sceptical. Light magic, blood magic. The former of which he'd never even bothered to look into, the latter of which he'd been unaware to work with the former without explosive reactions.

Clearly when he'd dismissed light magic as none threatening, he'd missed something.

.

Which was why he was here. If there was on thing he could study to find the cause of his down-fall, it was the boy. There was without a doubt lingering traces of the witch's magic upon him, and even from outside the house he'd been able to feel the thick protective magic that'd stuck to the boy like a politician to a Malfoy.  
There was a slight feeling of pity, of comradeship when he saw the 'saviour of the wizarding world' and his living conditions.

It only cemented the idea of getting the boy out and into the world of magic, to study him. And now, there was an interesting idea presented before him.

Because Tom had fully expected the boy to be with a light family, raised against the dark. But a quick skim of his surface thoughts showed the boy wasn't even aware of magic's existence, never-mind the idea of dark and light magic being on separate sides. If he played his cards right, he could twist the boy that could be a threat into his greatest ally. It would require a delicate hand. But it could be done.

And let it never be said Tom Marvolo Riddle did not stretch boundaries, of magic or otherwise.

He steered Harry towards the door, allowing the boy to pass through the threshold first as he dodged around the form of his uncle. Tom didn't so much as step over the man as he did step on the man's outstretched hand. It was petty, but he was sixteen after all. He could afford to be a little petty in regards to this. He'd allow himself it, because in all honesty, there wouldn't be as much fun to have now that he had to look after his famous little test subject.

Harry was stood nervously on the little stone path that led form his house to the street, hands clasped before him and looking obviously nervous. Tom made his way over and kept walking to the main street, already able to tell where the heavy wards on the house ended. And after a moment of hesitation, Harry finally jogged after him, still looking anxiously back at his house, as if expecting his uncle to leap back to his feet and come after him. Unlikely.  
The spell would of course wear off, it'd just be a good twelve hours before it did so. He might have gone a bit overboard, but Tom couldn't find it in himself to care.

Not that he usually could.

"Harry, I'm sure you're well aware by now that unusual things happen around you whenever your emotions heighten, correct?"

The Potter boy frowned, clearly trying to muddle through his words and Tom forced himself not to grimace. Of course the boy wasn't a genius like him, he wouldn't understand the words that a six year old Tom Riddle could have done. On one hand it was good, because he'd be able to lead the boy in any direction he wanted, but on the other hand, Tom despised dumbing himself down.

It was going to be a long study, that much was evident.

"I turned my teacher's hair blue three weeks ago... And when aunt Petunia cut my hair off it grew back in a night," the boy was exceptionally quiet as he spoke, not even looking at Tom and focusing upon his ratty shoes instead. "Do-do you know how I did that?"

Tom gingerly placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, sighing as he did so and mentally reminding himself studying the boy would go easier if Harry wanted to help him. Which led to these attempt at comforting him, even if it made Tom feel beyond uncomfortable.

"I do indeed know why those things happened Harry. We share a gift that the rest of your family do not, and clearly they were rightfully scared by it. Which is why I'm taking you in, it will do you no good to continue living with them when you don't belong there. I promise I will explain as soon as we are somewhere safe." Holding out his hand now for Harry to take, Tom forced a smile onto his face, already remembering the gesture from back when he had to comfort home-sick first years.

"Now I am going to use a form of instant travel to take us somewhere safe. It will feel like you're been squeezed through a small tube but it only lasts for a short while. Do you trust me?" He probably shouldn't have thrown in that last bit, he'd given Harry no reason to trust him so far. He'd given no proof that they were related, even if he already knew for certain that they were.

And yet, the green eyes that looked up at him were so certain as a small hand slipped into his own.

"I do."

And with that, Tom Riddle and Harry Potter apperated away.

* * *

**Someday I would stop getting idea's that I can't turn down, but as it stands, today is not that day. **

**So as it stands, Tom doesn't know of the prophecy, he only knows what the general public do. And Harry is Harry.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Tsume  
xxx**


End file.
